


you know that you can wind me up

by neverazombie



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Come Eating, Come Marking, Comeplay, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Sharing Clothes, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, this is filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22812739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverazombie/pseuds/neverazombie
Summary: “No.”Geralt turned back to his harvesting of the corpse, kneeling down to pry open the garkain’s mouth, and could hear Jaskier sputtering in disbelief. Let him work himself up. There wasn’t a chance in hell Geralt was giving him his own shirt.((Spoiler: Geralt definitely gives him the shirt.))
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 35
Kudos: 1772





	you know that you can wind me up

**Author's Note:**

> If you read the tags, you know what you're in for. Face God and walk backwards into Hell, etc etc, you all know why you're here. 
> 
> This story is so unnecessarily long... sorry...
> 
> Shout-out to SixPonderous for the conversation, inspiration and cheerleading!
> 
> Also, if you live in the Geraskier tags on Tumblr as I do, this is also partly inspired by one of craftgamerzz adorable and amazing drawings! I can't link for shit on this site, but I have faith that y'all can find it.

“Jaskier! Don’t-”

It was too late. Geralt watched as the half of the garkain corpse slid off the tree limb above the man and landed atop him, drenching Jaskier in the thing’s rancid blood and other bodily fluids. 

Jaskier stumbled forward but managed to keep his feet, whirling around to look at Geralt. 

Geralt couldn’t quite suppress the snort of laughter that crept out of him as he took in the look of abject horror and disgust on Jaskier’s face.

“Oh yes, yes, laugh at the poor man trying to help you collect your little trophies and getting befouled for his efforts. Very hilarious, you know I just don’t feel like we’ve really had a good adventure until one of us looks the part of a monster hunter.”

Geralt huffed and looked down at his own shirt, smeared with a splatter of the garkain’s blood himself, and probably a few lumps of intestine as well from when he had cleaved the thing in two as it lunged for him. 

“Yes, alright, you’ve not escaped unscathed but I much prefer when you’re the one worse off. You never seem to mind being covered in all sorts of body parts I’d rather not think about. Doesn’t it bother you? I thought your delicate sense of smell would be easily offended by the veritable mountain of innards and blood you encounter on an almost daily basis.”

“Hmm. I just… ignore it.”

“‘Ignore it, he says!’ Ignore it! Why hadn’t I thought of that gem of brilliance myself, what an-”

He watched as Jaskier muttered to himself and attempted to shake off the blood at first, and then realizing it was soaking into his doublet, ripped the offending material off. His hair was matted down against his head and he used the inside of the jacket to scrub his face. The blood had already started to coagulate though, and was sticking stubbornly to the man’s skin. As he rubbed more vigorously, he only managed to spread it further, down his neck and onto the collar of his chemise. 

Geralt paused in his work of removing the monsters claws to watch the bard thrash about. Well, if he claimed to keep the man around for entertainment, he may as well get his money’s worth. 

The doublet quickly became sodden with blood and Jaskier discarded it entirely. He untucked the bottom of his chemise and applied that to his face and neck, managing to be slightly more successful in cleaning up his skin with the rougher woolen material, but at the cost of the shirt itself. Jaskier paused, looking down in dismay at the state of his clothes. 

He looked up at Geralt, and realized for the first time that he had an audience. Seeing the faintly bemused look on the witcher’s face made him want to punch the smug man directly in his smug mouth. Then, it began to dawn on him that, well, Geralt’s shirt was really much cleaner than his own. He examined the blood-soaked state of the grey material he wore. He squinted over at the black material of Geralt’s shirt, and truly, could barely make out the stain that was certainly there. He yanked the chemise quickly off, rubbing it through his hair for one final pass. 

“Geralt. Give me your shirt.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard. Give it!”

“No.”

“My clothing is unwearable! No thanks to you, hacking away at the garkain with so much fucking strength you managed to launch half its body above our heads. This is clearly your fault. So. Give me your shirt.”

“No.” 

Geralt turned back to his harvesting of the corpse, kneeling down to pry open the garkain’s mouth, and could hear Jaskier sputtering in disbelief. Let him work himself up. There wasn’t a chance in hell Geralt was giving him his own shirt. 

“If you don’t give me the shirt Geralt, I’ll, I’ll-”

Geralt sighed heavily, not threatened in the least.

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll just take it then! I’ll take it right off your damn body!”

The stones on that man, honestly. 

“You’ll _what_?”

The growl in Geralt’s voice didn’t even seem to give Jaskier an ounce of pause as the man stalked towards him, bristling like an angry cat.

There was a not small part of Geralt that was curious if the man would actually carry through with his threat. Yes, he let Jaskier get away with plenty, between the casual touches and the jokes at his expense, bribing Roach with treats and stealing food off his plate and ale from his cup, but the bard generally seemed to know where to draw the line. This would definitely be toeing the line, if Jaskier dared it.

Jaskier did, indeed, dare it. Geralt should not have been surprised in the least.

He allowed the man to get close enough that he managed to get his fingers in the material bunched around his waist, and he gave it a good tug before Geralt reacted to stop him.

Geralt grabbed both his wrists, baring his teeth at Jaskier.

Jaskier remained completely unimpressed and continued to tug at the hem of the shirt with what little range of motion he had. 

“Put your fangs away, Witcher, you don’t scare me. Now, do us both a favor and stop pretending that you’re not going to let me have this shirt.”

They were caught in a stalemate, as Geralt hung on to the man’s wrists and glared at him. Jaskier didn’t flinch, look away, or seem even remotely intimidated. 

Never one to shy away from blame, Geralt knew this was his fault. You allow one too many familiarities without the occasional punch to the gut and suddenly people just walked all over you. 

He was… going to give Jaskier his shirt. 

The instant his grip relaxed on Jaskier, the other man smiled victoriously.

“Knew you’d see things my way, Geralt. Now, chop chop, it’s getting rather chilly out.”

“Oh, so better me to be cold than you, is it?”

“Come on now, we all know you witchers can endure much worse than a little cold.”

Geralt was already grabbing the hem of the shirt and carelessly pulling it over his head, uncaring if the blood smeared on his skin as he removed it. 

“Seems like an unfair double standard to me.”

“Uh, yes… it’s an unfair…”

He heard Jaskier trail off as he forced his tangled hair through the collar. The man was staring at his chest, eyes gone a little unfocused. Geralt didn’t even need to smell the stirrings of arousal off him to know what had distracted him. Jaskier was nothing if not predictable in these moments, at least. 

Geralt dropped the cloth over Jaskier’s head and turned back to his work while the man made vague protesting noises and dug himself out of the material. 

He focused a little more closely on the task now, eager to get back to their campsite and the fire he had pre-assembled prior to their encounter. The swamp they were camped near was certain to be damp and cold overnight and he hadn’t wanted to waste any time on his return setting up.

He assumed Jaskier had successfully managed to dress himself and could hear the man scraping around the other half of the corpse, hopefully retrieving some of the useful parts Geralt had taught him to harvest. 

After only a little while longer, Geralt had collected what he could and stored the parts away in his bag. He rose, turning to search out his companion. Jaskier was scrubbing his stained clothing against the small mess on Geralt’s shirt, and then on some of the more rough grasses and…

Well, he was wearing Geralt’s shirt.

Obviously. Obviously he was, but knowing it and seeing it were apparently two very different things for Geralt’s brain. 

They were of a height, so it wasn’t that the shirt hung too long on the bard’s frame, hem sitting properly at his mid thigh and the cuffs of the sleeves rolled to just below the elbow, where they normally sat on Geralt. But Geralt was a good bit... thicker, and the material was overly loose around the shoulders, chest and biceps. The few buttons that Geralt regularly kept open for comfort’s sake played out in an entirely different look on the bard. Of course, for a man who constantly wore his doublet unlaced, any risqué clothing choices probably barely phased the man. 

Geralt couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the look. 

Perhaps… _more_ than enjoyed.

“Jaskier. We’re heading back to camp, you can finish fussing over your clothes there.”

Jaskier, clearly still satisfied with himself for wheedling Geralt’s shirt off his body, nodded agreeably and popped up to his feet, gathering up his clothes. He retrieved a small pouch of his own that he had taken to carrying on hunts for when he deigned to help Geralt. 

The man reached his side and clasped a hand onto Geralt’s bare shoulder, grinning and bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“I’m looking forward to whatever culinary delights you’ll be preparing for us tonight, Geralt. And I can’t wait to tell Roach the tale of how I managed to steal a witcher’s shirt. You know she likes my stories best now.”

Geralt inhaled as a prelude to an annoyed sigh… and was essentially punched in the face with his own calamitous error.

Jaskier… smelled like him. And as much as he had enjoyed the sight of Jaskier in his shirt...the smell of it… he clenched his jaw as he felt a strong itch at the roots of his teeth. He wanted to lean in, breath in the scent of them together and then bite down on the slope of Jaskier’s neck. Leave imprints of his teeth in that soft skin and… He took a few more strong pulls of air, savoring the scent and taste of it. Hard not to imagine a more direct way to apply his scent.

His hands curled into fists, as if preventing him from just reaching out and reeling Jaskier in, pulling him close and burying his nose into the back of his neck, pressing his body in, in, in and...

Jaskier had begun walking back in the direction of Roach and the camp, and with the hand on Geralt’s shoulder, had pulled him along. He stumbled dumbly for a few steps after him, lost in his own thoughts, before he pulled himself together.

“Fuck off, bard. Why don’t you try cooking for us for once?”

“Why should I, when you’re so much better at it than I?”

“You are a complete waste, Jaskier, find something to contribute or starve.”

“Well excuse you, I did just help you root around a garkain’s corpse. And I plan to do some laundry, so how about that? Enough contribution for you?”

“Just make sure to wash my shirt thoroughly before you give it back, I don’t want any of your diseases.”

“D-d-DISEASES! I’ve never- you- I- Geralt if you don’t take that back _immediately_ -”

Geralt was treated to the bard’s rant all the way back to their camp. It failed to distract him the way he had hoped though. If anything, his scent seemed to settle more strongly into Jaskier’s skin the more heated his raving became.

He’d thought about fucking Jaskier before, of course. Difficult not to when over the past two or three years the man did everything short of physically throwing himself at him to make himself available. And whatever his reasons had been not to before, they suddenly didn’t seem nearly as important now.

\--

Jaskier was running his hands through Roach’s mane, untangling the last of the knots as he finished re-telling the story of the garkain and the stolen shirt. Not really ballad-worthy, but a crowd-pleaser to the right audience. In this case, Roach would be the only right audience. The horse snorted and bumped her head against Jaskier’s arm, and he gently patted her neck. 

He was reluctant to turn away though because… well, because of Geralt, frankly. He had felt the weight of the man’s gaze far more frequently than he was used to since they had returned from slaughtering the garkain. It was a more...considering, dare he say, gaze than usual. And so Jaskier had strategically attended to Roach first, rather than the laundry, to see if he could hold the man’s interest. 

He had. 

It was definitely because of the shirt. 

Jaskier was not a fool, not by any means. He’d had plenty of lovers who had enjoyed dressing him up. But never, never in their own clothing. For whatever reason, it seemed to do something for the witcher. 

He had demanded the garment out of a desire to be clean, yes, but also because he loved nothing more than testing the ever-eroding boundaries that Geralt had stubbornly set. Gods only knew why the man hadn’t fucked him up to this point, but Jaskier had been willing to take his time with this one. It was a happy accident to have stumbled across a tactic he hadn’t yet considered. 

He would definitely _not_ be doing any laundry tonight. 

Continuing to stroke absently along Roach’s snout, he turned slightly to observe Geralt, seated next to the fire and carefully prodding a few small potatoes among the coals. For all the man’s protesting, he took on the cooking easily enough. As he made sure the man’s attention was not on him for the moment, he subtly lifted up the material towards his nose and breathed in deeply. Sweet fucking mercy. It wasn’t that Geralt’s shirt smelled good, by any possible definition of the word, but it smelled like _him_. Vaguely of horse, of campfire, of leather, but mostly of his sweat, his natural scent. Strong, musky, salty… Jaskier inhaled again, closing his eyes briefly to savor it.

Geralt had pulled on another shirt when he returned to the camp, but had left it untucked and loosely hanging around his waist. His hair was partially trapped under the collar and Jaskier’s fingers itched to free it.

Having indulged himself, he made his way over to Geralt, sitting down a few scant inches away from the man. 

“Isn’t there something else you’re meant to be doing now?”

Geralt gestured at the small mound of clothing Jaskier had dumped near the fire upon their arrival back at their small camp. His gaze turned toward his own shirt on Jaskier, and lingered around the collar before he turned back to the fire and their meal.

“Well, it is a little too dark to be doing any sort of cleaning, isn’t it? It’ll just have to wait until the morning, I’m afraid. You’ll get your shirt back when I’m done with it.”

Geralt grunted, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. 

“Well, if you’re willing to put off that cleaning, I guess I’m not surprised you’ve lasted this long with guts in your hair.”

“In my- are you having me on, Geralt?! I thought I’d gotten…”

He reached his hands up to his hair and godsdamn the witcher, it was still matted with the innards of the garkain. He felt his face twist into a grimace. They had no water to help him…

“Here.”

Geralt tossed him one of their water pouches, recently filled.

“Uh that’s, that’s very kind of you Geralt. A man less wise than myself might question this sudden generosity but I-”

“Just use the fucking water, bard, so that we can get through this evening with a minimum of your dramatics.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and muttered softly, under his breath.

“Man can’t take a thank you.”

Jaskier conveniently forgot how sharp Geralt’s hearing was on many an occasion. Including this one.

“Didn’t sound like a thank you to me. Try again, with a little more gratitude.”

“Well, now I certainly shan’t be thanking you at all. Have you ever met an order you didn’t like giving?”

“No.”

Geralt’s lips had curled into a wicked grin and Jaskier felt his heart stutter in response. 

“Right, well then, I’ll just be-”

He quickly moved away from the fire to give himself space to try and restore his hair to some modicum of respectability. 

He could hear Geralt moving around, finishing their meal no doubt, and was struck with an incredibly mischievous thought. 

“You know, it’s quite dark and I can’t exactly see the back of my own head. I don’t suppose you could suffer through helping me? Just a tiny bit?”

“Fuck off, Jaskier. You’re a grown man, figure it out.”

“Oh, is that how it is? Despite the fact that I’ve generously helped you with many a bath, untangling that rat’s nest you call your hair on a regular basis, you can’t spend a few moments of your time to-”

“What did I just say about your dramatics?”

“That you find them endearing and entertaining, and that you’d be honored and humbled to assist me in my time of need.”

“Of all the fucking- fine. Give the water here.”

Jaskier could not have been more pleased with himself if he tried. Geralt snatched the water pouch out of his hands and roughly twisted the cap off. 

“Well? Drop your head forward so I can get to it.”

“Oh but what if I-”

“Jaskier-”

Jaskier, never one to settle for a single bird when he could have the whole flock, sank to his knees facing away from Geralt and let his head fall forward, exposing the back of his neck.

And, of course, his hair, which was theoretically the point of it all. 

The lack of movement, of any sound from Geralt made him think perhaps he had figured him out, just a little.

He felt Geralt’s fingers curl into the neckline of his shirt and drag it down Jaskier’s back.

“Wouldn’t want to dirty another shirt and leave you in nothing.”

Jaskier could hear a more pronounced growl in Geralt’s already normally deep, rough voice.

Without any further preamble, Geralt dumped some of the cold water over Jaskier’s head. He couldn’t stop the indignant yelp at the sudden freezing contact. Geralt’s touch was not the soft, tender type, not by a league. He threaded his fingers through fistfuls of Jaskier’s hair and tugged ungently at the unwelcome mess, stripping it off efficiently. Jaskier could swear he could feel every pull from the roots of his hair directly into his balls.

Fuck, that was good.

Geralt quickly removed as much as he could and doused Jaskier’s head one final time. Jaskier felt him pull the collar of the shirt back up and… deeply inhale, before turning back to the fire. Jaskier watched the man rub his now filthy hands off on the sides of his pants and was happy to stay on his knees, indulging in the low grade arousal he felt from inviting Geralt’s rough handling.

“If you’re done primping, we can finally fucking eat and sleep.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right. It’s getting quite late. And thank you, for the assistance and the meal. You provide quite the high level of service, Witcher, when you feel like it.”

Geralt’s shoulders stiffened slightly and hmmed in vague annoyance. 

Well, discretion is the better part of valor, as they say. If dropping to his knees and complimenting the man wasn’t going to get Jaskier the privilege of his cock, he’d be better off letting it go for the evening and try again another day. 

Know when to attack, know when to retreat, know when to be relentlessly persistent.

\--

Their meal was, in comparison to other moments that evening, uneventful and quiet. Geralt informed him that they would travel to a nearby river town, where he was certain he could find buyers for all the spoils of the day’s monster slaying. 

While banking the fire, Geralt had given him a subtle (but not subtle enough) onceover. He’d heard the deep breaths Geralt took, almost as if he was sampling the air itself, as if the scent of delicious meal or beloved spice lingered. The man had then turned to his own bedroll and lay down, ignoring, or at least trying to ignore, Jaskier.

Well, fine then. That was just. fine.

Jaskier still felt on edge from the unusually evident regard Geralt had shown toward him, and was in no rush to sleep. Geralt dropped off rather quickly after he lay down. Despite the fact that the man needed far less sleep than the average human, when he did sleep it was like the dead. Or at least it regularly appeared so to Jaskier. 

If the man could simply ignore the stench of the vile monsters he hunted, he could probably ignore many things that would deter him from a sound sleep. 

Jaskier was content to ponder the nuances of the witcher’s mutations as he tried to lie to himself that he was going to soon fall asleep himself.

He was not. 

It seemed any ponderance of Geralt was enough to get his cock hard at this point, and if the man had no interest in assisting, then he would take care of it himself. And he had positively the most perfect opportunity with Geralt’s shirt tucked against his body. 

He slowly trailed one hand down the front of the shirt, slow not out of any overabundance of caution but simply because he enjoyed drawing it out. He pulled the material taut against his chest and dragged it lazily across his nipples, feeling them catch on the rougher wool of the shirt. 

Jaskier couldn’t quite muffle the pleased hum in the back of his throat as his cock eagerly filled out. He supposed this wouldn’t take very long. He grasped the collar of the shirt with his other hand, bringing the material against his stubbled cheek to get a lungful of Geralt’s scent. Shouldn’t it have faded a little by now? How was it so strong after Jaskier had worn the shirt for hours himself, after it had been stained with its own share of blood and gore? How? 

His cock was throbbing, demanding more attention and so he slid his hand from his chest, fingers dancing across the line of his navel, and sunk them into the front of his trousers. His hips bucked involuntarily at the contact, and he rubbed his thumb lightly across the head. 

Oh, this was going to be over very quickly.

He sloppily shoved the trousers down his thighs, best to avoid more future laundry, and reached his other hand down to cup his own balls, rolling them lightly in his palm. 

He hummed contentedly, quietly.

But hang on, why was he trying to keep quiet? It wasn’t like he didn’t want Geralt to discover him, to find him pleasuring himself in the man’s clothing, surrounded by his scent. But he instinctively muffled his whimpers, some unknown remnant of shame surfacing. He curled into himself, slowly fisting his hand around his cock, the increasing pressure a blissfully intense feeling. He nosed the fabric gathered at his shoulder, taking another hit of the scent and felt his cock leak against his stomach. 

Oh this was brilliant, how had he never stolen a shirt sooner?

It was the closest he’d ever been to having the man himself, and he didn’t want to squander the opportunity. He collected the precome leaking out of him and smoothed it down his cock, stroking a little faster now. 

And then... Geralt was standing over him, arms crossed on his chest and gazing openly down at Jaskier. He froze. Fucking witchers and their fucking-

\--

“Don’t stop on my account. I thought you enjoyed having an audience.”

Geralt could see easily in the dark, and watched the emotions spill across the man’s face. Shock, guilt, was that shame?, arousal, and deep, desperate desire.

“Geralt, I-”

“Yes? You what, Jaskier?”

“Well, don’t just fucking stand there.”

Geralt had one foot planted on either side of the man’s legs, and was generally enjoying looming over him. 

“Tell me, is my scent enough to get you off? Could you find release breathing in the faint remnants of my sweat, my blood? Is that all you need?”

“I- maybe, but now that you’re right here-”

“Shut up.”

“Hah! Geralt, you should know-”

“Shut. Up.”

Jaskier’s mouth closed with a clacking of teeth. He hadn’t dared move once he became aware of Geralt’s presence, his hand still snugly wrapped around his cock. 

“Turn onto your back. And let go of your cock.”

Jaskier let out a shaky exhale and rolled onto his back. He gave his cock a final stroke and released it, hands falling to his sides. He stared up at Geralt, chest rising sharply as he started to pant.

Geralt took his time to let his eyes rake up and down the man underneath him, Jaskier’s pants were tugged halfway down his thighs leaving his hard cock exposed, Geralt’s shirt rucked up around his breastbone. He scented the air, the arousal from both of them so thick it almost coated his tongue like an overly sweet mead. 

Jaskier’s hands began to twitch, eager to return to their previous task, and his hips moved slightly, thrusting uselessly into the air.

“Geralt, _do_ something, _please_.”

Without responding, Geralt reached to the laces on his own trousers, pulled taut by the hard cock beneath them. He slowly, deliberately unlaced them, watching as Jaskier’s eyes followed every small movement of his hands. 

Once he had loosened them enough, he pulled the trousers down and drew out his cock.

“Oh fuck. _Fuck._ ”

Geralt watched as Jaskier licked his lips in response, drawing his hands underneath him to sit up. 

“Stay where I’ve put you.”

Jaskier paused, gaze bouncing between Geralt’s eyes and his cock, seemingly weighing how agreeable he wanted to be in the moment. 

Jaskier lay back down. 

Geralt waited a beat, to make sure the bard planned to stay. He stroked his cock lightly, root to tip, having no fluid to ease the way yet. He kept one hand gripping the base, to better hold it out to display for Jaskier, and teased it with the other, slowly tracing his fingers up and down the shaft. 

“Geralt, fuck you’re enormous. F-fuck, can I…?”

“You’ll do exactly as I say. And maybe, if you earn it, I’ll fit every inch of my cock into you.”

“Please, _please_.”

Now that was a sweet sound. Geralt could feel the first bit of precome trickle out the tip of his cock and quickly smoothed it down. 

He could hear small, keening whimpers rise out of Jaskier’s chest as the man watched him greedily, could see the man’s fingers twist into the fabric of his bedroll, could see his hips bucking almost unconsciously towards Geralt. The smell of them only grew stronger, and that shot directly to his cock, thickening it. Fuck, he could barely wait to…

“Geralt, I want, I need-”

“I don’t care, Jaskier, what you want. I’ll tell you what you’re going to get. I’m going to come all over you, over your face, your cock, my shirt, and I’m going to rub it into your skin, until there isn’t an inch of it that doesn’t smell like me. And if you can keep from touching yourself, keep from coming, then I’m going to spread your legs wide and fuck you until I’ve come inside you, so I can watch my come leak out of you, knowing I’ve left my scent inside you.”

“Oh gods, yes, fuck, you can do anything you want to me, Geralt, please just, fucking, please.”

“I know I can. But it is nice to hear you beg.”

He started stroking with a bit more urgently, more than impatient to follow through on his words and mark Jaskier with his scent.

“You want me to beg? I can do that. Please Geralt, I will do fucking anything to get that cock inside of me. Do you want me to cry? To crawl on my knees and pray to you, like a man worshipping his god? Do you want me to promise to be obedient to everything you demand of me?”

Geralt was caught up in the man’s words, the image of Jaskier on his knees certainly one he’d be revisiting soon. Jaskier’s gaze darkened as he watched Geralt consider. 

“I’m sure your stamina is a thing of legend, Geralt. You can probably fuck for hours and hours on end if you want to. But I don't care about that right now. Right now, I want you to bring yourself off as fast as you can. I want it as much as you, I want you to drench me in your come and I want to taste it, to lick it off my lips, suck it out of your shirt before it can stain. And gods, do I want you to fuck me.”

Geralt growled, the rivers of precome easily slicking his hand as it stripped up and down his cock. He dug his thumb in underneath the head at the top of every stroke, his foreskin sliding back as he stroked back down, swearing as the stimulation caused his hips to punch forward. 

“I already told you, Jaskier, I don’t care what you want. And I’d easily choke you on my cock to shut you up if I didn’t want to do this so badly.”

“Fuck I- you fucking could, if you wanted, I’d not protest. I’d never be able to take all of it, but by the gods would I try.”

A filthy promise like that was more than enough to bring Geralt to the brink. 

Jaskier’s whole body was alive beneath him on the ground, hands still at his side but the rest of his body rolling and twisting, so aroused he couldn’t keep himself still. 

“Would you-- would you come closer, I want to taste you when you come, will you let me-?”

“I don’t need to move. And there’ll be plenty for you to clean up.”

“I-”

Geralt felt his knees buckle slightly as he got close to the edge, his hand flying ruthlessly up and down his cock. He was so fucking close.

“Close your eyes, Jaskier, and open your mouth.”

Shockingly, the man obeyed without hesitation and in the end, that was what tore the orgasm out of Geralt. 

The first rope of come landed across Jaskier’s still hard cock, the man choking as he felt the hot fluid slick down him. Geralt emptied himself all over Jaskier’s stomach, over his own shirt, rumpled and pushed up as it was, along Jaskier’s throat and finally across his lips and his cheeks, messily painting his face with the last of it. 

Jaskier eagerly licked his lips and moaned uncontrollably.

“How is there so fucking much of it? I thought you witchers were all sterile, why would you ever need that much fucking come, fuck.”

Geralt stroked his cock through the last pleasant aftershocks of his orgasm, and watched as Jaskier savored the taste of him. 

Geralt dropped to his knees, one on either side of Jaskier’s hips, and reached out to collect the smear of come that had clung to his eyelashes. 

“Open your eyes.”

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open, pupils blown out wide, as he focused in on Geralt. Geralt brought the finger to Jaskier’s mouth and let him lick it clean. 

Holding his gaze, Geralt slid both his hands around Jaskier’s abdomen, cupping his ribs and using his fingers to rub his come into the man’s skin. He pushed his shirt up and out of the way to rub it across the man’s nipples, up through his chest hair and towards his armpits. He could feel Jaskier trembling as he touched him. 

He trailed his hands up either side of Jaskier’s throat with just a whisper of pressure. He cupped the man’s jaw with both hands and used his thumbs to stroke his cooling come into the man’s face. 

Jaskier seemed half-possessed as he watched Geralt through heavily lidded eyes, still writhing and panting helplessly beneath him. 

Geralt planted one hand above the man’s head and settled his knees up further around Jaskier’s chest. He heard the man’s questioning noise, felt his arms twitch as if to grab hold of Geralt’s legs. 

Geralt shifted his weight forward. He rubbed his still half hard cock along Jaskier’s mouth and cheek, smirking faintly at the high-pitched whine that left him. 

“Can I-?”

“Go ahead.”

Jaskier chased his cock with his tongue, trying to follow the slow thrusts of Geralt’s hips to get his mouth around him. Jaskier licked up the side of his cock, sloppily collecting his taste, eyes now almost sealed shut again in sheer pleasure. 

As Jaskier left a trail of kisses around the root of his cock, he managed to string together a coherent sentence.

“You may not have noticed but I, mmmmm, I didn’t come yet. And I believe I’ve earned myself that ah, reward you mentioned.”

“Drooling all over my cock isn’t enough for you?”

He teasingly drew his hips back, just to watch Jaskier crane his neck, struggle to reach his cock. The man was a mess, come and spit smeared all over his face, but looked like his appetites hadn’t nearly been sated.

“Not if there’s the possibility of you fucking me, it’s not.”

Geralt used his hand to guide the tip of his cock into Jaskier’s mouth, allowing the man just enough to briefly suckle on. He threaded the fingers of his other hand through Jaskier’s hair, pushing it down against the bedroll as he withdrew his hips and sank back into a crouch.

Jaskier whined in protest, hands flying up to latch onto Geralt’s thighs. His hands barely spanned the front of the muscled quadriceps he found there. Geralt allowed it.

“Have you always been so-”

“Sexy? Irresistible? Talen-”

“Desperate.”

“ _Yes_. You’ve made me… we’ve waited for _years_ Geralt, fucking years. Of course I’m desperate.”

“Hmm. Then I suppose a man like you must have some oil spirited away somewhere?”

“I’d object more to you implying that I’m some sort of whore if I didn’t currently smell like an entire brothel.”

“Not a brothel. Me. You smell like me.”

“Tell me, are all witchers this territorial, or is this specific to you?”

“Weren’t you going to find us that oil?

“Avoiding the question? It must be a you thing, then.”

“The oil, Jaskier.”

“Oooo and now he’s growling, I must have managed to get to-”

Geralt’s incredibly unimpressed expression had Jaskier rolling onto his knees and scrambling towards the case of his lute, a possession always close at hand to the bard. It took him only moments to remove a vial from the case and return to Geralt. 

While waiting for him, Geralt had sat down on the bedroll, lounging casually as his eyes tracked every movement the man made. 

As Jaskier shuffled in close on his knees, he plucked at his trousers and looked meaningfully at Geralt.

“Should I?”

“Take them off.”

Jaskier immediately pushed them down, sitting back to tug off his boots, socks and trousers in one hectic surge. His hands went to the hem of the shirt.

“No. Leave the shirt.”

Jaskier’s lips curled in knowing amusement, but let go of the shirt and draped himself back down across the bedroll. He let his legs fall apart and looked expectantly at Geralt.

Geralt hmmed thoughtfully.

“I seem to recall taking on an unequal share of the labor this evening. Now seems a decent enough time for you to put yourself to work.”

“Geralt, if this is the type of chore you’d have me doing regularly, I’d never complain again.”

Jaskier uncorked the oil, a faint scent of lavender drifting to Geralt’s nose, and let it spill across the palm of his one hand. He dragged his middle and forefingers through it and reached down between his legs to circle his hole. He spent a few moments simply rubbing the fluid around the rim of muscle, breath hitching every time his fingertips would catch.

Geralt shifted in closer, pushing Jaskier’s knees further apart with each hand. 

Jaskier, a showman at heart, flourished at the keen attention. 

He slowly dipped the tip of one finger in once, twice, biting his lower lip as he anticipated how full he’d shortly be. The teasing pace had Geralt clenching his jaw, torn between moving things along and the sharp pleasure of watching Jaskier finger himself open.

Geralt’s thumbs unconsciously began rubbing at the inside of Jaskier’s knees, taking long, deep breaths in to flood his senses with the scent of them both. 

Once Jaskier had fully worked in one full finger, he withdrew his hand to soak it in more oil. 

Geralt quickly decided he didn’t have as much patience as he expected. He reached over Jaskier to collect the vial for himself, and coated his own forefinger. 

Jaskier watched raptly until he entered himself again, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. He tossed his head back and moaned loudly, performatively. Geralt took advantage of the moment and pressed his own slicked finger to Jaskier’s rim. Jaskier’s breath stuttered and his legs shook, his own hand stilling. 

Geralt gently pressed at the tight ring of muscle, at first just applying pressure to test the give of it. Fuck, there was no way Jaskier was regularly fucking men and still this tight. He chanced a glance up to see that the man was staring at him hungrily. He held the gaze, and pushed the tip of his finger in firmly, sinking it in about an inch.

“That feels- I thought I was the one who had to do all the work here?”

“As usual, I have to inspect the quality of your work. No, don’t pull out. I’ll just…”

Geralt let himself trail off as he sunk his finger in down to the last knuckle, and paused to give Jaskier a moment to adjust. The man’s purpling cock and rolling hips were evidence enough that whatever discomfort he was feeling, it was more than manageable. Geralt dragged his finger in a half circle, pushing outwards against Jaskier’s walls. He could feel the man clenching down, and relented on the pressure, simply massaging against it until it relaxed.

“A-and, as usual, you are unexpectedly gifted at all manner of things. That feels fucking brilliant, Geralt.”

“You’re so godsdamn tight, Jaskier, my cock is going to tear you apart if you don’t fucking relax.”

“Oh ff-fuck, yes, alright, I’m, I’ll try to… it’s just been some time for me since…”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t regularly let those foppish, limp-dicked courtiers try and fuck the peacocking out of you? Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you, Geralt. I’ve been traveling with you for months now, waiting around for you finally _do_ something.”

“Well, let’s not waste any more time then.”

Geralt poured more oil around the fingers fucking Jaskier open, and pressed a second of his in. He could tell immediately three was a stretch for the man, but after only a moment Jaskier pressed his hips down further onto the intrusion. 

“Yeah, let’s not. We can, just a few more- I don’t care if it hurts, Geralt, just get your cock inside me.”

Geralt roughly thrust his fingers in a few more times, rolling his eyes at Jaskier’s overly theatrical wail, and then withdrew them. 

He trusted the man to know his own limits, and oiled up his own cock. Jaskier grabbed his own legs, holding them open as Geralt climbed over him. 

Geralt guided the tip of his cock to Jaskier’s hole, and paused.

“You must be fucking joking, Geralt, to-” 

As he pushed in sharply to combat the resistance of that tight hole, he leaned over and caught Jaskier’s lips with his own, swallowing the man’s surprised gasp as he licked into his mouth. Jaskier startled, and released his legs to wrap his arms around Geralt’s wide shoulders, eagerly responding to the kiss. 

Geralt forced himself to move slowly after the first intrusion, sinking in inch by inch. His cock felt like it was being strangled by Jaskier’s hole, and he groaned into their kiss. Jaskier pulled back slightly, planting small pecks at the corners of his mouth as he caught his breath.

“Mmm, you love how tight I am, don’t you Geralt? You love the idea of splitting me open, of being more man than I’ve ever taken before.”

Geralt’s hips thrust just a little harder at that. Obvious, he was too obvious.

“And you are, you are the most cock I’ve ever been filled with. I’m hungry for every damned inch of it, so won’t you just fucking put it all in me?”

Geralt growled and shoved his hips in the last inch or so, setting the other man to wailing at the force.

Jaskier’s legs were shaking where they had wrapped around his waist, his cock flooding his own stomach with a sticky river of precome as he gave a few abortive thrusts against Geralt. 

“The gods wept, you are perfect, Geralt. You’re going to bring me off in a matter of seconds. But don’t you dare stop, I want you to fuck me through it and fill me up, like you promised. Now get to work.”

Geralt didn’t need any further invitation beyond that. He slid back until just the head of his cock remained inside and thrust back in harshly, greedy to pull more sounds from Jaskier’s mouth. He wasn’t disappointed.

He buried his nose into the crook of Jaskier’s throat as he pounded into him, alternatively breathing in the scent of his come, of himself from the fabric of the shirt, and setting his teeth lightly into the skin. 

It took no more than a dozen thrusts for Jaskier’s prediction to come true - the man came messily across his own stomach, gasping from the force of it. As if afraid that Geralt would slow down, his hands slid down to dig into Geralt’s ass, pulling him into every thrust. 

Geralt had no intention of stopping. The already incredible amount of pressure had only increased with Jaskier’s orgasm, pushing him right to the edge. As the man’s body lost its tension in his post-orgasmic glow, it was easier to thrust harder and faster into the pliant body, and Geralt felt no need to hold back. 

Withdrawing again until just the tip of his cock was hugged by Jaskier’s rim, he slid one of the man’s legs up and hooked it over his shoulder. He snapped his hips aggressively back in.

“Fuck! Oh gods, how the fuck did you get even deeper, fuck me, Geralt, please please please.”

Geralt ignored the man and continued to drive his hips, fucking him so roughly they were sliding off the sweat-drenched fabric of the bedroll with every balls-deep stroke. 

He chased his own orgasm single-mindedly, growing desperate to fill Jaskier to overflowing with his come. 

Jaskier was far beyond overwhelmed and was letting sheer nonsense fall from his lips, fingers still digging into the meat of Geralt’s ass. 

Biting down on the skin of the man’s throat and leaving a savage imprint of his teeth in that pale skin, he drew his head back slightly so he could gather up the material of his shirt in one hand and shove it into Jaskier’s mouth.

“You’re going to want something to bite down on.”

He heard Jaskier’s vaguely questioning noise, the sound of a man so deep in his own pleasure he barely had awareness of his surroundings, but he held the material between his teeth as told.

Geralt was so fucking close, he was so close to coming, he just needed to…

He unhooked Jaskier’s leg from his shoulder, hand shifting down to grip the back of his thigh. He forced the other leg off his hip in the same manner and, spreading the man’s legs as wide as he could, rose up onto his knees, lifting Jaskier’s hips well off the ground. After his first brutal thrust down directly into his hole, he could hear Jaskier’s muffled screams into the material. He sank his cock repeatedly, almost violently, into Jaskier, feeling himself losing control at the sounds he was driving out of him. 

And finally, after a final brutal few thrusts, he was coming. And the orgasm wasn’t quick, his cock pumping out stream after stream of come into Jaskier, already starting to spill out of his hole as Geralt sloppily thrusted his hips through it. Jaskier spat the soaked material out of his mouth.

“Geralt, I’m so full, I’m too full, please, there’s too much, I can feel it _everywhere_...”

Geralt hmmed and rolled his hips lazily, wringing out every last drop of cum into Jaskier’s body. 

He took a moment to breath, chest heaving with the effort of his fucking and then gently pulled out. He let the man’s legs and hips slide back to the ground, massaging gently at crease of his hip to relieve the tension of holding such a position. 

Geralt chanced a quick glance at Jaskier’s face. The man looked completely fucked out, blissful and not feeling an ounce of discomfort. He let his eyes trace down his chest, at the sweaty, come covered material of his shirt, to the glistening skin of Jaskier’s stomach, coated in his own release. He let his gaze wander past the man’s limp and satisfied cock, to his puffy, distended hole, his come pouring out of it, slicking Jaskier’s thighs and the bedroll below. 

Mesmerized slightly by the sight, his one hand ran through the pools of his come and, collecting some on his fingers, pushed it back inside Jaskier. 

“Fucking hell, Geralt, you really have a very specific desire, don’t you? You should be well satisfied, White Wolf, as I don’t think I smell of anything _but_ you.”

“Good.”

The word slipped from his mouth reflexively, aggressively. Possessively. 

“Well now, why don’t you come up here and mark your territory a little further. You’ve left one side of my neck wholly unattended.”

Jaskier’s entire being oozed smug, obnoxious satisfaction. 

Geralt pushed two fingers into Jaskier’s leaking hole, plugging it up, and leaned over him, lowering his body down on top. The man was sturdy enough to hold his weight. 

“Keep talking like that and you’ll see exactly how correct you were about a witcher’s stamina.”

“Is that a challenge, Geralt? I accept. Do your worst.”

**Author's Note:**

> @nerdmidas on tumblr


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